Bellerophon's Bridle
by Alowl
Summary: A series of drabbles. Life through the eyes of those who left their planet to find the only place they could ever really call home.
1. Narcissus: Elizabeth

Disclaimer – I do not own SG-A and any and all characters etc. associated with it. Don't presume to sue, and I won't presume to tell you how to think. The ideas are mine. Don't touch, and I won't swear to kill you.

There's something to be said for fancy dress.

For getting dressed up in cloths that are smooth and soft against the skin, flowing over every curve like a smooth fall of water. Like standing out in the rain during a summer storm, when the drops are warm against the skin like the smile you have almost forgotten.

There is a sharp rush of satisfaction in choosing cloths. Like a warrior dressing for battle – because this is a battle, a battle of razor words and twisting lips, of gold gilt and the politics you never really have had the patience for.

But you have never backed down from a challenge. And you don't intend to start now.

So you select each necklace and earring with painstaking care, sliding them into place with meticulous fingers. The makeup you don – just a hint, enough to enhance but not exaggerate – slots into place with ease. _War paint_ you think with dark humor. Another facet to add to the mask.

But still, you can't resist a girlish twirl before the mirror before you leave the room.


	2. Sisyphus: Rodney

Apple pie.

It's stupid, really, but that's the one thing you miss the most about earth. It really should come as no surprise to anyone that it's food you miss the most – you're entirely obvious about your devotion to, let's see, _living_? Duh.

Besides, it's not that hard to fantasize about _real food_ when you're trapped in the land of MRE's and Cream of What. Everyone does it. You're just – more vocal about it then most. Yeah.

Apple pie, just the way your grandmother used to make it. Soft, moist apples, liberal amounts of cinnamon and nutmeg, flaky crust that almost melts in the mouth. Maybe with some homemade ice cream.

Yeah.

Your grand-mere never cooked you a dish in her life. She was shut up in the rehab ward long before your third birthday.

Ford's grandmother would make apple pie on his birthday. He used to tell you about it, face surprisingly mature in the flickering light of the fire.


	3. Fenrir: John

You used to dream about wolves when you were a child.

In your sleep, there would be a pack running through a forest – an evergreen forest, with snow carpeting the ground in a lacework of patterns. They were always running, and sometimes you could almost join in – run until you could feel the wind in your hair, the chill in your lungs, the fierce joy in simple existence.

Run, until the world dropped away, and you were flying – best rush ever, almost beating the fighter planes you'd fly one day.

Until it all fell apart.

You grew to love Antarctica, not for the solitude it provided, but for the snow. Vast and untouched, the likes of which you had only ever seen in your dreams.

These days, there is little time to sleep. But that's okay.

When you look into the mirror, you see a wolf's eyes.


	4. Medusa: Ronon

You don't see what's so amusing about your hair.

It's an annoyance, for the most part. It's long, tends to snag on objects, and generally just gets in the way of activities. Then again, it serves as good cover for a number of myriad objects, most of them very useful in desperate situations. It's psychological value in battle can also not be underestimated – the bestial appearance it lends you makes for startling intimidation. You're sure some of your enemies would agree, if they could still draw breath to speak.

You haven't had that much opportunity, really, to think about it. Before Atlantis, hair care and maintenance was never a priority.

You're starting to think about it now.

Ever since that one Marine's comment on how "hair like that must eat combs by the bucket", people have been staring at your hair and asking you how much time you spend on it to give it that "look".

McKay has already accused you of stealing the Colonel's hair gel.


End file.
